Amuletum Angiti
by Cmdr's Monkey
Summary: Collecting all 882 pieces of Cortez gold is much harder than Barbossa first thought. Now he and his crew are searching for alternative methods to lifting the curse. Following him is Davy Jones in search of the same thing... Davy Jones vs Hector Barbossa
1. Prologue: Snake Goddess

**P****irates of the ****C****aribbean**

_Amuletum Angiti_

Prologue: Snake Goddess 

Her beauty was nothing but perspective or _Eye of the Beholder_ as the old saying goes. To those who did not believe in her, saw her as a monster, a demoness and a heathen goddess. But to those who did believe in her, saw her for what she really was. They saw her as a powerful being who loved and cared for her kindred, who healed the injured and sick and spared the cursed a long life of suffering.

Although she often took the form of her familiar, the snake, she was loved and respected by the midwives and healers and worshipped daily by the witches and sorcerers. A single temple had been erected in her honor by a small covenant of witches and warlocks and eventually was cared for by a priest and his acolytes.

Said priest had expanded the cult of the Goddess until all in the four corners of the Earth knew her. But his greatest area of success was the land around the Caspian Sea. Many came to see Her healers for some kind of affliction or another. Others came for the charms of good luck and protection while some came for the more wicked arts. But all came with respect and hope. Fear was not to be seen in any of the eyes the Priest saw and so She was pleased.

Then one day a terrible curse had befallen the land and sea. Crops were dying from a drought and the sea itself was receding back in on itself, leaving dead and dying fish at its once pristine shores. The people eventually grew angry and fearful and soon began to no longer blame the other gods, but Her.

The villagers revolted more out of fear and appeasing the gods. They killed anyone who practiced Her arts and found their way to the great temple on the island in the sea. Standing at the steps with the confidence of man who believed his Goddess to be with him, stood the Priest. The angry villagers that had crossed the water paused at the base of the hill, unsure what to do against this lone man who appeared like a God to them.

Before they could decide and gather their courage once more, he spoke to them. His voice was not harsh or angry but kind and gentle, full of concern and curiosity as well as pity. "Why do you commit such horrid acts of sacrilege against She who has cared for you and loved you?"

"She has cursed us!" someone had shouted from among the crowd.

"Why would She curse those who are devoted to Her?" The Priest asked and spread his arms open, palms facing the sky. "The Goddess is a Healer, not a Scourge."

"Why does she then allow our crops to die and the sea to disappear?" another asked.

"Why does she not put a stop to it?"

"Because it is not Her place to command nature." He had answered and had received a roar of outrage in reply. But the Priest held his hand up to still them. "However, I will commune with Her for an answer to your troubles, but you _must_ bring me a piece of the land and a piece of the sea. Do this and We will see what We can do."

And so the villagers did as he asked for three days and nights the Priest had prayed and sacrificed for Divine inspiration. And on the third night when the villagers were becoming restless and a plague of rats ravaged their food stores, the Goddess came to him in a drug-induced trance.

"I know of the plagues that afflict those who follow me," she had sadly said to him. "I am being punished by the others for their jealousy and therefore I cannot directly interfere any more. You must care for yourselves with what knowledge I have given you."

"We have used that knowledge to no avail," the Priest explained desperately. "The lands are cursed by Them and only you have the power to reverse it."

"No longer," she replied painfully and he was taken aback by the emotion she displayed.

"Then what shall we do?"

She was silent for several long seconds. "Make me this and I will give you that power." She finally said and began to fade away, leaving behind the image of their salvation.

And so the Priest did as instructed and had a local smithy and jeweler forge and craft an amulet out of black metal, gold and silver and decorated with jewels in the shape of a teardrop of snakes. And as instructed he brought the amulet to the temple and She empowered it with the powers to heal and dispel the magic of the Gods.

But before She left the Priest for the last time, she warned him; "With this amulet comes great responsibility. Abuse its power and everything will be for naught." He promised Her he would not and so for the next four decades, he kept the power of the Gods at bay and continued Her faith throughout the lands.

But like all men with power, their hearts come to desire more and more. The Priest soon became greedy and hungry and turned the peaceful occult of the Goddess into a bloodthirsty and savage following. She had seen what he had become and what he had done to Her faith and grew angry. One night She came to him in his sleep and asked why he had turned away from all that She had taught him.

His answer; "You are not pleased at how far and wide your faith has grown?"

"I did not want my faith founded on blood!" she had angrily shouted at him, startling him from his sleep. He had been ready to dismiss it all as a dream when shouts erupted from outside of the temple. The Priest had not known that the Goddess had an army ready to lay waste to the Temple and the surrounding lands and She had only held the slaughter back until She had his answer.

Now that wave of death rapidly came upon them all and amidst the fighting and screaming, the amulet She had him forge was torn from his chest and crashed to the bloodied marble floor of the Oracles chamber. It shattered into three pieces, one disappearing into the snake abyss below and the other two traveled separately across the world to never be seen or heard from again...


	2. Chapter 1: Fog Bound

Fog Bound 

The white wall of stifling morning mist pressed against the still waters of the ocean, making it all but impossible to see beyond a fathom. The sea was silent except for the occasional creak of the ship that dared to sail in such foreboding weather. Ripples cascaded outward as the merchant ship glided effortlessly through the deep-blue water, guided by the wind pressing into her white sails. The sounds of men working echoed across the water as the ship's crew carried out their duties, oblivious to the weather surrounding them. A bell rang as it's rope was pulled, the sound carried far off into the fog bank despite the thickness of the cloud until it reached the ears of another ship nearby.

It was a black ship with black sails.

It sailed hard and fast against the still water, sending harsh waves out from its black hull. The white mist seemed to part before it as if the rotting galleon appalled the fog. Its torn black sails were full with the wind, tilting slightly to catch more of the wind and push the ship faster through the water. The black ship began to turn towards the sound of the distant bell as it rang once more, shouting to the black ship where it was located. The ship's side ports lifted open and the ghastly mouths of cannons poked through the openings.

The black ship began to turn to port as a glimpse of the prey appeared through the white mist. The maneuver now had it behind the unsuspecting ship and it was closing in fast. The bell rang out again as the black ship raised it's colors high until the familiar skull and crossed swords was flapping steadily through the wind at the top of the mainmast.

"Sail 'ho!" a surprised voice sounded from the merchant ship's crows nest. "It's the _Black Pearl_!" The warning was too late and the crew had no time to roll out its own cannons as the black ship came along side for a broadside attack. A thunderous roar of cannon fire pierced the misty air, instantly followed by blood curdling screams and splintering wood as the cannonballs impacted into the hull of the opposing ship.

Grapples flew across the short distance between the two ships and attached to the now listing merchant ship. The lines shortened, as the black ship was pulled closer until both hulls kissed each other. A bloodthirsty roar erupted from the black ship as the crew appeared and scrambled over the two railings with swords drawn and pistols firing. The two opposing crews quickly crashed together in a chaotic melee of flaying arms and swords, pistol shot firing into flesh or through the air to embed itself into a mast or some other ship part.

The screams of men dying echoed through the mist that was now quickly enveloping the two combating ships. The sounds gradually died down as the merchant crew fell one by one to the pirate crew until the only sounds left were gleeful laughter and pounding feet of the plundering victors. But those sounds were quickly silenced with the footfalls of another and the excited screech of his companion. The pirate crew looked over to see a man step off the railing and onto the blood soaked deck of the merchant ship.

He wore fine clothing befitting of a man in command of a pirate ship. He wore a long overcoat set over a white shirt and crimson-brown vest, a yellow sash wrapped around his waist beneath a wide leather belt that flapped loosely at his side. An elegantly engraved flintlock pistol was tucked neatly into the belt and a rapier sword hung from a second belt that was fitted over his right shoulder to his left side. He had a wide-brimmed hat decorated with blue ostrich feathers and his coat was fitted with Incan silver buttons. He also wore dark brown pants tucked into weathered black boots. His graying hair was worn long and loose and he had a straggly beard running down to the base of his neck. His face was weathered and gaunt and his yellowed blue eyes gave him a sinister appearance. Perched on his shoulder and nibbling on a peanut was a brown and white capuchin monkey that also wore a fine white shirt under a red and gold vest. Tucked in its belt was a miniature flintlock pistol.

"Well, gents," the man said. "Have we found it?"

A skinny Jamaican spoke in reply; "It's not here, Capt'n! We search'd de ship and found nothin'."

"It has to be here," the man replied. "Ye all felt it call! Search again! I don't care if ye have to tear the ship apart to find it!" He watched as the crew once more began the search, this time literally tearing the ship apart to find it. A large African covered in ritual facial and body scars approached with two other crewmembers, dragging with them several survivors. He forced the survivors to their knees in front of the Captain.

"Dis is all dat's left of de crew, Capt'n," he said in a deep voice. "Der capt'n is dead."

"Did ye search them?"

"Aye, dey don't have it."

"Then why are they still alive?" the Captain rhetorically asked. To answer him, the African and the two pirates drew knives and slit the throats of the survivors before they picked up the bodies and threw them overboard with a loud splash. While they disposed of the unwanted corpses, the Captain made his way toward the stern of the ship where the Captain's cabin was located. Standing guard at the cabin door were two pirates, one was tall and thin with an eye patch over his right eye while his companion was short and chubby with a balding head.

"Like ye ordered, sir," the tall one spoke. "No ones touched de Capt'n's cabin except us."

"Good, lads," he replied and promptly shoved them out of the way so he could get to the door. "Now get out of here and help the others find the coin."

"Aye, aye, Capt'n Barbossa!" they both said in union and scrambled out of his way. Captain Hector Barbossa briefly watched them go before shaking his head and opening the door to the cabin.

The cabin was sparsely decorated as expected of a merchant captain. Of the few things that did give life to the room, they were opulent and expensive looking. An elegant oak table with scattered maps and papers rested in the center, above it hung an oil lamp that tilted with the listing ship. Off to the side partially hidden by marigold curtains was a simple bed. Near the back was a small desk with more scattered papers. Next to it, a small antique and faded globe lay on its side, having fallen over from the attack. Scattered all around were piles of books, closed trunks and trade goods the late captain had picked up or intended to sell. The room also seemed to have served as a map room and the pirate wondered why the merchant would share his space.

Barbossa took all this in as he walked around the cabin, touching each item he passed in an attempt to feel its texture. His eyes were closed as his fingertips traced along the stained oak table, remembering what a finely finished piece of furniture felt like. Although he _could_ feel the wood beneath his fingers, he was left with a feeling of want, unable to take real pleasure in the craftsmanship put into the elegant table.

With a heavy sigh, his hand fell back to his side. "Damn this bloody curse, Jack," he growled and began to rifle through the maps and papers as the monkey leapt off his shoulder to explore the room himself. The little animal skittered across the floor and leapt onto the small desk. It reached down to the chair and picked something up off it's seat. With a delightful screech, Jack drew his master's attention to him. "What have ye got there, my little furry friend?"

Jack showed him what he had found, a plump and bright red apple was held up to his master. Barbossa frowned as he watched the monkey take a bite out of it. "Ye know how much I love those, quit taunting me with one!" Jack squeaked at him, it's happy smile from finding the prize fading to a disappointed and craving frown. "Ha, tis what ye deserve." The pirate captain walked over and promptly took the bitten apple from the monkey's hand and took a bite out of it himself. He could feel the succulent juices in his mouth but could no more taste and enjoy the flavor like he could feel the table. Again he was left with a feeling of want, an unsatisfied craving he could not satisfy no matter how many apples he ate.

Angry, Barbossa tossed the apple through the back windows, shattering the stained glass into a thousand pieces. Jack ran off in fright, leaving his master alone in the room. "The coin called us here," he growled as he stomped his way back over to the oak table. "We could not have gotten the wrong ship, could we?" He leafed through the maps until he found one where sightings were charted down. He followed the course the merchant ship had taken and made note of where it had been when the coin called to them. A finger traced along the route, passing islands and reefs until it came to a stop to the ship's current position. He saw no markings for sightings of other ships along the way. "It has to be here somewhere!" he slammed a fist down on the map.

"Capt'n Barbossa," the Jamaican pirate called from the doorway. "We've searched de ship again an' still we haven't found de coin."

"It's here, Koehler," Barbossa replied. "It has to be. Check the waters for debris or survivors and then have this ship scuttled."

"Aye, Capt'n!" the thin pirate answered and hurried to shout orders to the rest of the murderous crew.

------------------ 

Silently off in the distance somewhere in the fog bank, floated a ghastly ship that had seen better days. Seaweed and barnacles covered its rotting hull. The sails were tattered and shredded yet they still caught the wind as if they had always been whole. The cannon port covers were carved with demonic faces and its bowsprit jutted out from the bow like a fanged beast ready to swallow whatever was unfortunate enough to be caught in it's maw. Bones and crustacean shells made up what was left of the wood railings. But despite its horrific and terrifying appearance, the ship was as solid and sound as any other.

Aboard the deck, the crew matched the ghastly ship. Each one looked different from the other but they all had barnacles and crustaceans, seaweed and rot and a ghostly appearance about themselves. At the helm on the stern castle was a giant of a sailor who was made entirely of coral, a single red eye peered out from what should have been a human head had he been human. Beside him, much shorter but more human than the helmsman, was a gray skinned hammerhead with one eye in the right place and the other having moved to where it would be correct on such a shark. Standing off to the side, near the port railing, and alone was a third creature.

He had a crab leg for a peg leg and a lobster's claw for a left hand and forearm. His right hand appeared more human save for the index finger, which had grown into a long tentacle that was currently wrapped around his forearm. His dark clothing was encrusted with barnacles and crustaceans, seaweed and coral and who knew what else grew on the fabric. But the most prominent and most noticeable disfigurement, if you would dare call it that, was his head. What should have been a normal beard, in its place instead were several withering and very much alive tentacles. The two prominent tentacles formed what would have been an over-grown mustache had he been human. A siphon protruded out from the left side of his face, acting in place of his very missing nose. A wide and split tri-corn hat rested over his head, hiding a sac at the back. The only thing about him that appeared to retain any humanity, aside from his right hand and leg, were his eyes. They were the deepest blue, as deep as the depths of the ocean itself.

"Capt'n, orders?" the hammerhead shark asked of the squid-faced man.

"We'll pass on this one," he answered, his voice laced with a Scottish brogue. "There is another ship in the vicinity and they will find the survivor before we do." As if to confirm his claim, the dense fog parted just enough and long enough for both men to see another ship sail by. It was a ship of the British Royal Navy and it was one that he did not want to contend with at the moment, especially so soon after the cursed ship had scuttled the merchant ship.

"Shall we set sail after the _Pearl_ then?"

"Aye, Maccus," he nodded and a tentacle pulled out a whalebone pipe from an inside pocket in his coat. Another tentacle lit a match off his claw and set the tobacco smoldering in the richly decorated pipe. "Let us continue following this trail of blood and entrails these cursed sailors leave behind them." The hammerhead nodded and left to instruct the helmsman on their new heading while the captain continued to stare into the fog, listening and feeling what was happening out there despite being unable to see the unfolding events.

"Look! There's a boy in the water!" the voice of a young girl exclaimed and Davy Jones knew that the only survivor of the attack had been saved from the cruelty of the sea...


	3. Chapter 2: The Scroll

The Scroll

Gentle waves lapped against the crystal blue sea that lay beneath the naked cerulean sky. Dapper gray dolphins chattered and played beneath the crisp waves, swimming through clouds of fish and scattering them in several directions before they reformed into a school again. The scenery was peaceful and pleasant to the eye and it is no wonder why some men have fallen in love with such beauty.

But that beauty was shattered with the bow of the _Black Pearl_ slicing through the pristine water like a knife through butter. The kind and gentle dolphins broke apart their pod and swam away as fast as the schools of fish were darting deeper into the sea's depths. The sky seemed to darken with the passing of the massive ship, but it was only the casting of shadow by its gigantic black sails. The sounds of the crew busily working could be heard; some of them were singing (or humming) an old shanty as they worked.

Inside the grand cabin, a monkey swung from a chandelier that hung over a large and dark mahogany table; while his master was carefully examining the maps and journals they had acquired from the merchant ship. The coin had not been found and Barbossa had spent the last several hours searching every bit of information as to why. Now he sat before those papers, wondering if they had accidentally attacked the wrong ship. He knew that it was possible along the more heavily traveled shipping lanes, but this particular ship had chosen to chart its course along one of the lesser traveled and pirate infested routes in order to cut back on the time it took to reach their destination. A very unwise decision the late merchant captain had quickly come to regret.

But despite his doubts, the maps showed no sightings of other ships; and their course had not deviated to any of the nearby island ports. The journals, themselves had only spoken of activity on board the ship and some of it's passengers, but there were no mentioning of the coin or of any other ships spotted after the date the coin had called to them. The passenger and crew manifest, however, were a slightly different matter entirely. Of all the names written down, one particular one stood out and made Barbossa's blood run cold had he had the ability to feel it. But the despair was still there despite the curse and what he had read would make all of their efforts fruitless.

A one William Turner, age nine, had booked passage from Scotland to the Caribbean Isles. He had no possessions except what he had worn on his back. Flipping through the journal again, Barbossa read a passage describing a young boy who spoke about seeing his father in Tortuga, who was also named William Turner. According to the captain, the boy believed his father to be a sailor for a merchant vessel and had been eager to follow his old man's footsteps.

Quietly, Captain Barbossa leaned back in his chair and weighed what the information had just told him. He knew that the late Bootstrap Bill had a son named after him. The old seadog had spoken often about him and from what little bit of gossip that floated to his ears, nine years was about the right age for this young William Turner to be Bootstraps boy. If that were true, and so far all the evidence was certainly saying it were, then they all had just damned themselves for an eternity.

For William Turner now lay at the bottom of the seabed with his father.

"We've doomed ourselves, Jack," Barbossa said heavily and ran a hand over his face in frustration. The brown and white monkey, still hanging upside, twisted his head to the side, giving his master a questioning look that said:

"_What do you mean by that?"_

"We need the blood of Bootstrap in order to lift the curse and since we sent him to Davy Jones' Locker," Barbossa explained to the monkey though it was more for him than for Jack. "Then we need the blood of his descendants. But... it turns out that his only son was aboard that cursed ship!"

Jack dropped down from his perch above the table and trotted over to his master, running through the rolled up maps and leaping to his master's shoulder. In doing so he knocked a few of the maps off the table and to the floor. One particular rolled up map caught Barbossa's attention. The material it was made from was different from the others and highly unusual. The cursed captain bent over and picked up the map and examined the paper. He noticed that it was not paper at all but some kind of grass reed dried and pasted together, papyrus.

Curious, Barbossa unrolled the papyrus and raised a surprised eyebrow at the contents written inside it. "Well now, what have ye found here, Jack?" Inside was not a map but paragraphs of words written in a language long since dead. Around the Latin and as a border were ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic images that Barbossa could not understand if his immortal life depended on it. "It seems the captain collected more than just trade goods, wouldn't ye think?"

In response, Jack squeaked softly and leaned forward to get a closer look at what was obviously now a worn papyrus scroll. He looked up at his master curiously before sitting back on his shoulder. "Aye, I am just as curious as to what it says. Me Latin is a bit rusty but I think I can translate it." Quickly the captain stood from his seat and taking the scroll with him, he moved over to a row of bookshelves along the far wall and traced the spines of each of the books until he found one he was looking for. "But at least I'll have some help along the way, eh Jack?" The monkey mimicked a nod in agreement.

Barbossa sat back down and pushed the other maps off the table before he spread out some of the rolled up scroll. He weighed down some of the corners with a smooth, aged skull and a dagger from his boot. Carefully he read over the first line, double-checking a word he could not translate until he understood what was being told in the scroll. "It seems here we have a story, Jack," the monkey squeaked and leapt off of his shoulder to go back to the hanging chandelier as his master read out loud.

"_Templum magnum en mare hyrcanii erat...__"_

------------------

_There was once a great temple in the Hyrcanian Ocean_, its followers lived up and down the coast in harmony with the land and the sea. The Priest was well loved by the people and through him the Goddess was just as loved. Together they Hyrcanians and the Occult of Angitia lived a golden age. But like with all great things, they must all come to an end.

The end for these people came not from outside or from some cursed plague, but from their Goddess through a gift that had once been their salvation and now had quickly become their bane. For the Amulet of Angitia had the power of the Goddess Herself, the ability to heal the wounded and right what had been wronged by curses. Such power came with great responsibility and to abuse it would bring a curse upon their selves.

For years the Priest welded the power with care but as time passed and more and more desperate people came to him for help, the more he became corrupt. And soon he had turned a peaceful religion into a great empire founded on blood shed by human sacrifice. He had turned his peaceful Goddess into an image of fear so that the entire world came to know Her and Her familiar, the snake, as monstrosities and servants of evil. What the Priest had done to Her was unforgivable, but let it not be said that She had not give him a chance at redemption.

While the army of the Parthian Empire waited just outside of the Hyrcanian borders, the Goddess came to Her stray sheep and asked him to turn back to the ways she had taught them to live. He had refused and so She condemned him and all those who followed the new ways. The Goddess unleashed the terrible army upon the Hyrcanians and the Parthians laid waste to all those they called heathens, showing no mercy to anyone they came across.

The Goddess saw these outsiders slay Her people She had once loved and wept for days on end. Her tears filled the Hyrcanian Ocean, turning its fresh waters into that of a salty sea, staining even its shores with Her dried tears. Then after the seventh day of Her mourning, a voice frail and pleading reached through Her veil of sorrow and asked for Her mercy.

"Why should I show you mercy over the others?" She had asked of the frail acolyte who had been hiding under a clothed table in the temple as the Parthians sacked the place.

"Because I follow the Old Ways, Goddess!" He had shouted over the roar of dying men and women and the clashing of swords and shields. "Whereas others strayed, I chose to stay with you and was shunned for it! Look at me? Look at what they have done to me for my beliefs? Please, I implore you to show me mercy and I will return your people to the right path again!"

"You will only stray and corrupt my teachings!"

"I cannot promise you whether I will become corrupt, for power does that to weak men, but I can promise I will not corrupt your teachings so long as you do not let me!" She considered his words carefully and after much thought, She had spared him of the same fate as his Priest. But doing so was not an easy task for the Parthians surrounded him.

Amidst all the chaos in the great temple, a single and slick, black snake had uncoiled its way from Her statue above the pit and made its way to the frightened and disfigured acolyte. "Follow my servant and He shall bring you to safety," the Goddess had whispered to him. Encouraged by the idea of surviving Her manslaughter, the acolyte did as he was told. But when the snake led him through the great chamber with the deep snake pit in its center, the acolyte stopped upon seeing the slain body of the Priest and the broken pieces of the amulet.

Seeing the snake continuing on without him and upon hearing the footsteps of approaching soldiers, he quickly grabbed the nearest piece and fled after the slithering guide. Where the snake traveled, he began to notice that the Parthians had either already departed or were approaching the area the snake was entering. The acolyte had either credited this miracle to his Goddess or an uncanny ability of the black snake. He did not question it, but was only grateful that when he emerged from the temple, he had not encountered a single invader.

As he followed the snake into the forest, he tightly clutched the amulet piece. Only when the snake had led him to safety deep in the forest, was he certain that it was safe to relax and study the defiled holy piece. He was upset that such a powerful item of his Goddess had been destroyed and he regretted not grabbing the other piece.

When his Goddess appeared to him, She asked of him why he wept and in reply he showed Her the amulet piece. "It is no good now, my Goddess," he had said between sobs. "It is broken and the beauty it once had is now gone."

"It is best that it is destroyed," She answered him tenderly. "For together it only brought destruction upon those who used it." She then told him that each piece still had the power to heal, but to undo the curses caused by the gods or powerful magic, it must be reassembled whole.

"I will not put it back together again," he told Her.

"Nor shall you be able to," She answered. "For the pieces are separating as I speak. The Parthians are taking the one piece you left behind, the other remains at the temple with me and the third you shall keep hidden."

"Hidden?"

"It has only brought misery and distorted my image. I do not want it to influence this world again."

"Then I shall hide it from the world and never use it to heal the sick and dying when your teachings can easily do the same." The Goddess was pleased with this statement and with Her blessings, the acolyte now turned Priest began his journey to hide the broken piece and renew the Occult of Angitia.

The newly instated Priest traveled far and wide, gathering people to him and teaching them Her ways. But never again did he have a temple erected in Her honor. Her religion became nomadic and wherever he went, Her ways were taught. Even as he spread word of Her to the people of the strange dry lands, he always searched for that one piece the Parthians had taken in the hopes of hiding it along with the second piece. The third piece he knew was well guarded, for his Goddess had left a terrible guardian and the island that the temple rested on now lay under the Hyrcanian Ocean never to be seen by man again...


	4. Chapter 3: Shipwreck

**Shipwreck**

Captain Hector Barbossa sat back in the chair as the enormity of the story's tale began to dawn onto him; as if it were a gift bestowed upon him by the Heavens above after the Devil himself had stolen his only hope of ever tasting food again. So Bootstrap and his boy were now at the bottom of the sea, dead or dying from the harshness of the unpredictable mistress. With what this story spoke of, he and his crew could find another way of freeing themselves of Cortez's curse.

"Now all we have to do is convince the crew, Jack," Barbossa said to the monkey who was still swinging from the chandelier. "Without telling them about the boy, of course."

Jack twisted his torso so that he looked at his master right side up. To Barbossa, it looked awkward and he wondered how the monkey could bend his body in such a way. The monkey squeaked at him before righting itself and hanging from his tail. He reached down and grabbed a shiny gold coin from a small pile on the table that had been hidden beneath the maps and had only been revealed earlier when Jack had run through said maps.

"Give me that," Barbossa attempted to snatch the coin back from the monkey, but Jack scattered across the room too quickly for the cursed pirate to grab him. "Ye know the crew will have me hide if ye lose that!" He followed after the monkey and after several minutes of playing cat and mouse with Jack, he succeeded in coaxing the undead animal to trade him the coin for something noisy. "Blasted monkey."

Barbossa walked back to the table with the coin and collected the other five laying there before hiding them in his coin pouch. He sat back down and pulled the papyrus parchment back over to him. "The Hyrcanian Ocean," he murmured as he reread some of the passages. "Never heard of such body before and who be the Parthians anyway?" A bell jingled over by the wide windows in the back of the cabin. The captain paid no attention to his monkey as the animal played with the bell he had traded with.

He wondered that since the story had been written in Latin, that the teller had been Roman and spoke of a Roman goddess. Such train of thought led him to conclude that the Hyrcanian Ocean had to be a body of water somewhere within the Roman Empire. _But which body? Is it a sea or an actual ocean? What use to be called the Hyrcanian Ocean?_

Perplexed by the ancient names used in the story, Barbossa stood up once more in frustration and marched over to the bookshelves to see if by chance his predecessor had a book on the Roman Empire or ancient oceans and seas. "Jack, remind me to update this book collection with some useful books," he said after discovering that the late-Captain Jack Sparrow had nothing more than the usual books on ships and navigation and the occasional book on random European countries.

A knock at the cabin's door interrupted his search through a book called _Barbary Corsairs, Scourge of the Mediterranean_. He closed the book and replaced it before calling out; "Ye may enter." The door opened and the tall tattooed African stepped through. "Ah, Bo'sun have a drink, seat or whichever fancies ye."

"Have ye found out what happened tae de coin, Capt'n?" Bo'sun ignored Barbossa and went straight to business, as was his nature. The Captain scowled slightly at the brusque manner before dismissing it with a friendly grin.

"Regrettably, no," Barbossa answered. "They had not sailed near any islands or passed any ships since the call. The coin had to be on board and unless some scallywag crewman is hording it, it is now sinking its way to Davy Jones' Locker."

"No cursed sailor aboard dis ship would dare hold back de only thing dat can free him." Bo'sun replied and pulled out one of the table's chairs before seating himself in it. He noticed the papyrus scroll and the Latin book but took no more special attention to it than a mere glance.

"Aye, that be true. Therefore it now be at the bottom of the sea."

"We can always go back an' search for it," the First Mate suggested.

"Aye, we could," Barbossa nodded and propped his feet onto the table, leaning back in his chair that he now found himself in again. "But the coin has not called to us again, so where would ye begin the search?" Bo'sun was quiet with that question and Barbossa figured he had no easy answer to give. "Exactly. We be wasting our time tryin' to find a coin that will eventually call to us again. Meanwhile we could have been searching for the other coins and/or other means to freeing ourselves of this wretched curse."

"Other means?" a new voice asked and both men looked to see Koehler standing in the doorway. The coxswain stepped into the room and Jack the monkey appeared out of nowhere from the rafters, jingling his bell at the Jamaican. Koehler swung his arm to shoo the offending creature away and Jack only hissed at him before climbing back to his perch above.

"Aye," Barbossa said and turned the scroll around so both men could see it. "Twas among the merchant maps we took."

"I can't read it," Koehler says, annoyed. "What does it say?"

"It is Latin," Bo'sun states and points to the book nearby. He did not speak the language either but unlike the coxswain he had seen the book and knew what it was before Koehler had entered the room.

"Aye that it be," the cursed captain pulled the scroll away from them and began to carefully roll it back up. "It be about some powerful amulet created by a goddess for the Occult of Angitia. Apparently it has the ability to heal the sick and dying and lift the most powerful curses, even those inflicted by the gods themselves."

"An' ye believe it?" Bo'sun asks.

"Even if I did believe it, I do not know where to start looking for the three pieces."

"Three pieces? Ye mean it be broken?" Koehler wasn't too pleased and showed everyone by crossing his arms together.

"Sadly. However, I do know the location of one of the pieces."

"But ye just said ye didn't?" Bo'sun pointed out.

"And I don't. The story uses an ancient name for some body of water. Until I figure out what body that is, I don't know where it is."

"But..."

"I know what I said." Barbossa snapped. "Now, I ask ye. Will ye be willing to take a side-trip to find these amulet pieces?"

"An' what of de coins?" Koehler inquired, sitting down. "Will we be collectin' dem still?"

"Of course," the captain answered and then added, "It be a good idea to search alternative ways to free ourselves but that does not mean we should stop with what we're doing now."

"I agree," Bo'sun added with a mod. "De sooner I can taste food again, de better me mood will be an' de less I have tae use de cat, aye Koehler?" He laughed amusingly and the coxswain glowered behind his dreadlocks.

"De time we spend findin' dis amulet dat may not even exist, could have been spent gatherin' de coins." Koehler protested. He was not happy in changing their course.

"Aye, but like I said," Barbossa leaned over to face the Jamaican up close. "We be doin' both at the same time. Besides ye know the call takes priority over everythin' we do. The moment a coin calls to us, we be puttin' this little treasure hunt aside. Ye do want to eat again, don't ye?"

"Of course I do!" the Jamaican answered, a little quelled by Barbossa's ruthless manner.

"Then don't question me again or I'll be inclined to be rid of ye like Bootstrap."

"Ye do dat an' ye condemn yerself, Capt'n."

"Nay, I'll be sure to keep yer heart before I send ye to the Locker." Barbossa sneered and his monkey leapt down between them screeching his agreement with the Captain. Koehler was about to swat the annoying animal aside when they all felt the all too familiar pull of a coin calling to them. All four of them looked toward the port bow and Jack screeched excitedly, hopping up and down between Barbossa and Koehler before climbing to his master's shoulder.

"Well then, it be settled," the Captain said over the monkey. He gave Jack a peanut from his pocket to quiet him. "After we get this coin, we set sail for Egypt..."

Outside, the cursed crew was already adjusting the sails and rigging as the helmsman turned the ship onto its newest heading. The Black Pearl groaned under the stress of the changing winds, its black and torn sails filling out and sending the cursed ship against the sea quickly and harshly. Soon the cursed pirates of Cortez's Gold will be upon their latest prey and only the sea will be showing them any mercy.

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The sky and the reflecting sea below was dark as the night. A full moon shown through thin, gray clouds to cast an eerie glow upon the still water and the two ships that sat upon its glassy surface. Misshapen shadows darted back and forth on both ships as the clouds passed in front of the silver orb, blocking its light for a few moments before allowing it again to glow upon the watery world below. One of the ships slowly approached the other, its ghostly features looking even more ominous in the moonlight, its deck empty but two men standing at the top of the stern castle.

"It certainly doesn't look like much is left, Capt'n," the hammerhead First Mate observed. The ship that they approached was a schooner and it was a wreck. It looked like a great beast had torn it to pieces from beneath the waves, drawing it downward into the depths until all that was left showing were splintered masts, torn sails and parts of the main deck. But Davy Jones knew that no beast, Kraken or other, was responsible for the carnage that slowly sank before the ghostly _Flying Dutchman_; unless you counted cursed men as beasts.

Beside the Devil of the Sea, stood his loyal first mate, Maccus, waiting for the order to send the crew over and loot the wreckage for supplies and souls, assuming the crew of the _Black Pearl_ left any this time. "Nay, it doesn't," Davy Jones lowered the barnacle covered and rusted glass. His tentacle beard twitched ever so slightly in tense anticipation as the _Flying Dutchman_ drew ever nearer to the shipwreck. Off on the horizon and well behind the wreckage, a fog bank slowly shrank against the moonlight as the source for it sailed away rapidly. Jones was curious as to why the _Pearl's _captain was leaving in a hurry this time. Normally he and his crusty crew scavenged the leftovers with the cursed fog covering them. This time seemed to be not the case.

The sound of metal scraping against wood resounded and ended with a heavy splash as the _Dutchman's_ anchor was let loose. The massive galleon slowed to a stop next to the wrecked schooner, her sails folding at the same time. Jones did not have to say a word to his crew. They knew what to do and he watched them emerge from the wreck's woodwork. _It certainly gives ah whole new meanin' tae comin' out of the woodwork,_ he silently mused. Jones watched as his men moved through the wreckage searching for survivors and when Maccus stood at the side and gestured for the Captain, Davy Jones was already at the hammerhead's side. The Master of the Seven Seas already knew the answer before he heard it.

"No survivors... again," Maccus reported, disappointed.

Jones beard curled in slight frustration before he answered. "Are ye certain-ah?" he asked, wondering if it really was worth following the _Black Pearl_ if it's cursed crew was going to take everything, including the kitchen sink. As Maccus answered him, he felt something creeping along the edges of his senses, like a soul that had departed from the shell but lingered curiously as if it wanted to watch what happened to its corporeal self. As he grasped onto it, feeling and groping it to see if it really was there, he was fairly certain now that there was a survivor somewhere nearby and it was doing a fine job of hiding from his men.

"There is ah survivor," he stated flatly, amusement crossing his face and beard at the thought of this lone man believing he can hide forever on a sinking ship. Like a basset hound that had caught an intriguing scent, Davy Jones led his First Mate and two others through the wreck, never bothering with the doors or ladders as they passed through each section, most of which were flooded with water. The Captain paused a moment to regain his bearings and wondered how this survivor had made it to the lower stern without passing on.

_Fear of death can turn any sensible man into a brave and desperate soul._ Sensing the soul to be just beyond a wall, Jones sent his men first to secure the only survivor before following behind with a wet and slurping plop. The chamber they found the man in was a small storage room that had been blocked off by debris caused by a cannonball smashing through a parallel wall and knocking down the overhead rafters, trapping the lone survivor below deck. Aside from the debris, there were a few crates and wet sacks of cargo scattered over the floor, some of the contents floating about in a slowly rising and shallow pool of water.

The man himself looked like a drowned bilge rat. He was soaked to the bone and in the weak moonlight coming through the holes above, Jones could see bloodstains on his person, most likely coming from the gash on his scalp. The man was wild-eyed with fright, that same fear keeping him from screaming and struggling from Maccus and Angler's grasps. Pleased that the cursed crew had missed one of the crewmen, Davy Jones stepped forward with his whalebone pipe and lit it in front of the doomed sailor. He took a puff from it before breathing the intoxicating and rich smoke into the man's face. The smell of tobacco brought focus back into the sailor's eyes and met the Captain's briefly before averting his gaze elsewhere; which had fallen onto the intricately carved pipe.

"Do yew fear death?" Davy Jones began in a soft tone. The man was already scared out of his wits; there was no longer a need to use a harsh and loud voice. Besides he had learned long ago, long before he became cursed himself, that soft voice tended to be more persuasive than a cruel and harsh one. "Do yew fear that dark abyss-ah?"

"I... I know who ye are, sir," the sailor spoke up after finding some courage to speak.

"Do yew now?"

"I... I know what ye are goin' tae offer." The man seemed to be finding more strength in each word he spoke. He found enough to meet Jones' gaze again.

"An' will yew accept-ah me offer?" the cursed devil spoke expectantly.

"No." Jones abruptly straightened, disappointment knotting his tentacles together.

"Tew the depths then," he said guiltlessly and began to turn away. But a bloodied and boney hand reached out to grab the empty sleeve of his long coat.

"No, wait!" the sailor pleaded and Jones humored him.

"Change yew mind have we?"

"I... I have a better offer." As the sailor hoped, Jones was intrigued enough to stave off his crewman from finishing the slice along his neck.

"I'll be the one tew determine it's-ah worth-ah," Jones leaned down into the man's face, his head now firmly grasped in the crab claw. He tilted the sailor's head as if he were studying his bloodied face like a critic would critique a masterpiece. "What-ah can yew offer that-ah is better than me own?"

"Information," the sailor squeaked.

"An' what-ah do yew think is worth-ah yer life?"

"Tis about de pirates dat attacked us." Jones let the sailor go and started to walk away again. "Dey plan tae steal something dey think would help dem!" That seemed to stop the Sea Devil in his tracks. Jones did not turn around to face the man gain, but let the silence hang between them before he finally spoke.

"An' what would yew know-ah of this-ah?" His voice was menacing, warning the sailor that he had better not be lying to him.

"I overheard two of dem talkin' about der Capt'n, about his mistakes an' that he's sendin' dem on a wild goose chase for somethin' dat may or may not help dem." By then Jones had faced the man again, pulling on his pipe in thought as he listened.

"Really now," he finally said. "An' how do yew know-ah that this bit o' information would-ah interest me?"

"Dey're walkin' cadavers, sir." The sailor answered. "Cursed men like ye an' yer crew..." He did not get to finish his sentence as Jones lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck with his claw. The sailor tried to fight off the crustacean arm to no avail. Jones beard was writhing in anger at what the sailor had said and was ready to kill him with a simple snap of his neck. He wasn't angry at the fact that he was cursed, he was angry at being reminded of it and that made him act on impulse.

"An' why would yew believe that-ah?" he hissed in the man's face.

"I... I thought ye would be wantin' tae lift de curse?" the sailor sputtered and gasped beneath Jones deathly grip. After a minute and the man's eyes started to roll up into his head, Jones let him go. The sailor dropped to the floor gasping lungful of air before sitting up on his knees. The fear had returned to him and wondered if he had made a mistake in telling the devil what he had overheard. "Am I right?" he asked quietly and Jones glared down at him but did not answer right away.

If what the man said were true, it would explain the _Pearl's_ hasty departure. If the cursed crew was going after an item that could lift their curse believing it to be strong enough to work, then perhaps it could do the same for him? The thought of being able to set foot on land any time he pleased and walk among people without them running in fright or trying to slay him was quite alluring. He could then hunt down the woman who tricked him into this Hellhole and get some long awaited answers. But as quickly as those exciting thoughts came they vanished with the reality that his curse may be impossible to break by any other means except by That Woman.

"Perhaps this information is worth lookin' into."

"Den ye will let me go?" the sailor asked.

"An' why would-ah I do that-ah?" Jones asked but he already knew the answer.

"We made a deal!" the sailor stepped forward threateningly but swiftly retreated when Jones quickly closed the gap between them, his tentacle face in his.

"Deal?" Jones said softly and menacingly. "I recall makin' no deal with the likes of yew."

"B... but I had offered..." Jones cut him off before he could finish.

"Aye, yew did offer an' told me what-ah yew knew. However yew failed tew make an accord before yew so freely gave me that knowledge." The Captain grinned like a fox that had outsmarted the stupid hounds. The sailor quickly realized his mistake and his shoulders slumped in resignation. Jones could see that he was ready to accept his fate and so continued to speak to him in that soft tone but this time without the menace. "But me offer still stands."

The man looked up warily as Jones continued, "One hundred years before the mast. Will yew serve?"

The lone and bloodied survivor nodded his answer and Davy Jones straightened his frame, laughing at the man's pitiful situation and the choice he had made. The Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ emptied his pipe and stepped past his newest crewmember that was being pulled to his feet by Angler.

"Welcome tew the crew, Master Simons!" He laughed cruelly before walking through the splintered hull behind the man.


	5. Chapter 4: Phantasmal Dreams Part One

A/N Sorry it has taken me so long in updating this story. I blame Davy and Calypso for not cooperating with me. I'd like to thank those who have reviewed and I like to threaten those who are lurking to review or I'll sick Jack the Monkey or Jimmylegs on them if they dont! Reviews keep this story alive! **  
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Oh yeah... forgot to add this in the prologue so I'll add it now;

Disclaimer: I only daydream that I own all things Disney...

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**Phantasmal Dreams **

Sea urchins and barnacled creatures quickly retreated into their little homes with each passing step of a leg sounding not entirely alive and yet is very much so. A hermit crab scampered under a ladder leading to the top deck of the stern castle as a much larger and barnacle encrusted crab leg passed where it had momentarily stood. It's beady little eyes watched as the much larger crab, for it must be such with a leg like that, passed it by and disappeared into a part of the ship it always goes to, scrapping against the deck floor and dusting the air with mildew and water droplets with each landing and resounding thump.

The hallway that the owner of the crab leg found himself in appeared far different from the rest of the ghostly ship. Whereas the ship looked like it was rotting away and built with the bones and flesh of the lost souls it had taken over the centuries, the hallway here appeared to be in a better condition and it was also better lit by the few oil lanterns that hung near the cabin doors. It was at one of these doors that he stopped at and roughly opened before entering the cavernous cabin.

Cavernous was the understatement of the century when it came to describing the sheer magnitude of the chamber's size. The cabin was _huge_. So huge that it appeared to the eye to be much larger than there was room to be had on board the ship. But it was an optical illusion, one created by the Captain himself to both make it seem more spacious and more intimidating to those he let into his sanctuary. The large coral tubes protruding from either side of a gothic pipe organ did not help alleviate the sense of walking into an underwater cavern. But perhaps the only things aside from the musical instrument that made the chamber less like a cave and more like a ship's cabin were the few pieces of rotting and mutated furniture carefully placed on either side of the room.

To one side was an unused bed with no coverings, its mattress having rotted away. Near it was a stand with a few flickering candles casting an eerie orange glow on the small crab that carefully crossed the stand's surface. Lining the wall was short and thin bookcases that were filled with both books and scrolls in many languages and from different times. Here and there acting either as bookends or fillers were various trinkets collected from around the world and over the centuries. One such trinket hung loosely on a silver chain next to a fat, crimson and gold book labeled _Grimorum Arcanorum_. A book that dated back to the time of Augustus Caesar and lost to the world until the captain bargained for it from some foolish man who did not realize what he had thrown away for a day in a beautiful noblewoman's bed.

Opposite of the small sleeping space, across the massive room were a large, coral encrusted table with matching chairs. One of the glistening chairs has an unused long coat draped over its back. It was faded red with dull gold embroidery and trim around tarnished silver buttons. It looked like it had never been worn for years and time had failed to corrode and cover it with sea life just like everything else in the room. On top of the table were rolls of maps and an astrolabe and compass. A book weighed down the corner of one open map while pieces of coral held down two other corners. The last corner was held down by a tarnished silver locket of a crab shaped in the form of a heart, a woman's face etched into its surface. It was this that drew the creature to the table, briefly touching the worn long coat in memory before picking up the locket.

With the locket in his good hand, Davy Jones limped his way over to the ornate pipe organ. He set the treasure down on the ledge before softly running his fingers across the many keys, but did not press them down, and the intricate carving of a chained angel and etchings of fleeting fairies.

With the locket in his good hand, Davy Jones limped his way over to the ornate pipe organ. He set the treasure down on the ledge before softly running his fingers across the many keys, but did not press them down, and the intricate carving of a chained angel and etchings of fleeting fairies. Carefully and like a confident pianist getting ready to sit and compose, he sat at the bench with a flourish of his long coat's tails behind him. He did not play right away, instead both his mind and gaze wandered to the silver locket that lay closed on the ornate organ. He reached over and picked up the item, flipping it open and silently listening to the musical melody that echoed in his chambers. With a sadness born from a broken heart, he sighed desolately and closed his eyes, trying to remember what it had been like to be a normal man sailing the seven seas; to feel happy emotions without pain and to love and be loved in return. He conjured up a memory he knew had all those things and it took him back to a time when he had been well respected not out of fear of what fate he held over men but for his prowess as a sailor and as a privateer captain for King and Country.

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He remembered this day, that wormed its way up from the bleak abyssal of memories, as the day he learned that the woman he had come to admire and love had been a goddess in disguise. When he had first met her, she had been an unkempt and wild stowaway hiding in the bilge with the rats and other creatures that found their way into that dank, smelly and wet hold. His cabin boy had discovered her when she had ventured from her hiding place for food, or so he and the crew had first been led to believe. The young lad had enough sense about him to not alert the entire ship of their unexpected and unwanted female passenger and instead had gone straight to his captain.

At first he had not known what to do with her, this dark skinned woman who appeared frightened and uncertain of her surroundings and fate. He had thought she had been a runaway slave who knew nothing outside of her plantation. It helped explain her timidity and fear and it became the reason for her existence aboard his ship. She had asked him to let her stay and so he had agreed, how could he have turned this frail creature away? Not long after he soon began to reassess his conclusions about her. She appeared to be even more ignorant of the world than he had first thought and there was no way she could have been a slave and not know the table. His men joked that she had been a washed up mermaid but he had countered with how she ended up on the ship and in all of the places aboard, the bilge. But their joke had stroked a cord of curiosity in him. He wanted to know where this young woman came from and figured he could learn about her by teaching her his world.

In the five years she had been with them, he finally learned who she was but not until after she had been taught to sail and fight with a sword; to read and write and above all else table manners, at least now she no longer used a fork as a hairbrush. It had been an interesting and quite frustrating five years. Although she was a grown woman in her late twenties, she could act like a child in one moment and then in the next be as serious as any adult. There were times when she laughed and giggled at the most absurd things and then there were times when she was as calm as the sea or as furious as a squall. Like the sea goddess herself, she was just as fickle and hard to control. Some of his crew had come to believe she was crazy, especially after she had jumped overboard just so she could swim alongside a pod of dolphins, which surprisingly had not scattered from her, that had joined them. It was then that he had first noticed something peculiar about her.

When they had first found her, the only things she had known were her name and how to swim. She had called herself Tia and she had a love for the sea that matched his own. Seeing her swimming alongside the fearless dolphins made him wonder if what his men had joked about all those years ago were true. She seemed to have come from the sea; how easily she swam alongside the creatures and how they let her hold on and swim with them, her love for that endless beauty and the fact that she was just as unpredictable as the sea itself. None of them could have guessed that she _is_ The Sea.

It was that same day he learned who she was that he had also admitted his love to her.

He had been teaching her how to navigate by starlight for the last two nights as well as showing her how to steer the ship to the stars. It was during these lessons that they had gotten closer to each other and he had felt the electrical fire ignite between them when his body was pressed firmly against her back and his hands overlapped hers, carefully guiding them as they guided the wheel, in turn guiding his ship towards Leo. He could tell that she felt at ease with the task and with him helping her. Slowly he had pulled his hands away and let her guide his vessel across the horizon-less expanse.

"Yew doin' good, lassie," he praised as he watched her and the prow of the ship. "Keep her chasin' the lion until he's leapin' over the bowsprits-ah."

"Aye, aye, Capt'n Jones-ah," she replied, mocking his own accent. He had never heard her use an accent that was not being mimicked from the others and had always wondered why she did that. There were times he had thought he heard her own accent but quickly learned that she had been mixing accents that she had picked up from one or more crewmembers. Why she did that he did not understand either. He knew she occasionally mimicked him when she was being playful or angry; the latter he was rarely on the receiving end much to his relief. He had no doubt that it was not because of him being the captain or that was what he had always told himself anyway.

He took the moment of letting her guide his ship on her own so that he could take a step back and observe her. He had never noticed before how the lantern light of his ship or the star and moonlight played across her features. He had never before noticed a shimmer in her skin or that mischievous sparkle in her eyes when she glanced over her shoulder at him, catching him starring. _"Like what you see?"_ a voice had whispered in his head and he had unknowingly nodded in reply. She smiled at him in that way that was both tempting and intoxicating to any man who fell under her spell.

Her soft voice broke his gazing with a curious question; "Why did-ah yew become ah sailor?" she had asked him using his accent again and he had looked up to see that their course had deviated a bit. Before he answered he had stepped forward and covered her hands with his, returning them back on course. The close proximity between them allowed him to notice for the first time the sweet scent he had not noticed moments before. He took in a breath, smelling and tasting her scent that was like the sweet salty sea air and before he realized what he was doing he had already done it. She had not pulled away or tensed when he lowered his chin to rest on her shoulder, instead she had leaned in to him much to his surprise but he did not dare move or ruin the moment.

"Why?" he repeated the question at last.

Why had he become a sailor? If she had asked him that question a long time ago, he would have told her that he had done it to escape the poverty and dreg of the lower-class life in Glasgow. Now he was not so sure as to why he became a sailor. He knew it was not to escape the world he had been born into, there were many other opportunities out there that were a whole lot better than life on a ship. Something about sailing had appealed to him far more than say joining His Majesty's Army. He suspected it had been the sea since now that is all he loved and cared about these days.

"The sea, I suppose-ah," he had answered her and she glanced at him, waiting for him to tell her more. And he did; "She offers every soul-ah freedom an' adventure but-ah fer ah price. Yew have tae prove tae her that-ah yer worthy tae sail her waters an' that-ah only comes about through her trials."

"She?" she asked skeptically but he heard the underlying tone of amusement.

"Aye," he nodded and turned her around so now she faced him with her back to the wheel and his hands on either side of her, holding onto the spokes. "Calypso, the sea goddess."

"Yew believe in ah heathen god-ah?"

"Every superstitious sailor does," he answered, a little perturbed by her questioning his beliefs.

"I never took yew tae be ah superstitious man."

"I'm-ah not-ah," he replied, offended that she would think him to be daft enough to believe in every old fisherman's tale. She smiled coyly at him and wrapped a strand of his braided beard around her fingers.

"An' yet-ah yew believe in ah sea goddess."

"Should-ah I not-ah?" he gave her a questioning look before letting out a quiet sigh a moment later. "It is not-ah likely that she exists-ah anyway so why would-ah it matter whether I believe or not-ah?" She looked hurt and he puzzled over that reaction to his statement.

"What-ah would yew do if she were real-ah, standin' right her in front-ah of yew?" This question perplexed him even more and slowly everything started to make sense as each piece of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place.

"I would-ah tell her that she is the most beautiful thing I have-ah seen since the sea itself-ah." She smiled at his, obviously very pleased with his sincere answer.

"Yew have ah very flatterin' tongue Davy Jones-ah."

"Tew bad-ah she is not-ah here an' I only have yew tae flatter."

"Oh?" She smirked in that teasing and tempting way that said she accepted your challenge and was going to enjoy every moment in defeating it. He did not know what to expect from that reply until he heard the wind pick up and the sails flap noisily. He looked up to see the night sky churning and the sea starting to become choppy before he looked back down and saw a knowing smile on her face. He gasped and mouthed words that failed to make sound as he understood what she had meant and looked at her disbelieving while a gentle storm formed overhead and rain drops began to drizzle down onto them both and the crew that responded to the sudden change in weather.

"Aye, Davy Jones-ah. She be here before yew."

He took a sure step back and gazed at her in amazement. To reconfirm what his mind was processing to believe, he looked up at the sky and at the gray clouds, droplets gently pelting his whiskered and weathered face before he looked down at her again. She was beautiful, even more so now that he knew who she really was and for a split second he wondered if it were just a trick of the light on the glistening streams of water gliding down her dark skins. He shook his head and knew better.

She was beautiful even before he knew she was a goddess.

"Well then, that-ah explains everythin', " he finally said and placed his hands on his hips as he watched her. The small storm did not go away nor grew in size as she took a step closer to him until they were only inches apart. He relaxed his arms as he looked into her and returned her smile with his own. She gave him a questioning look to explain how revealing herself to him had explained everything to him, although she already knew that answer already. She wanted to hear him say it.

"Ah woman-ah," he began softly, his Scottish brogue quite pronounced from nervousness stemmed by being in the presence of every sailors' patron goddess, "born of slavery would not-ah have been so ignorant-ah of the world of men like yew had us believe-ah." She laughed musically at his words.

"Yew assumed-ah that I was," she replied and their faces were only centimeters apart, his whiskers lightly brushing against her lips. "I let-ah yew believe I knew nothin'."

"So then yew knew perfectly well that-ah fork was meant tae be used as an eatin' utensil rather than as ah hairbrush-ah?" he teased and her smile grew wider. He wanted to know more about her and why she was here but he was not given the chance that night. She had closed the remaining distance between them and her mouth was closed around his own.

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A soft melody invaded his daydreaming, at first he thought the familiar tune was coming from the silver locket but when he cast his cerulean gaze to it he found that it's inner gears were still. Then he realized as he felt movement in front of him that it was coming from the organ, his tentacle beard had started laying on their own when the locket had stopped. Abruptly he stopped the beard from continuing and silently cursing how they sometimes had a mind of their own. He leaned back to keep his tentacles from continuing while he thought upon the memory and realized how much he missed those days when he had been but a simple sailor doing privateer work fro Britain. Thinking back he preferred it when he had been ignorant of whom Calypso really was and had immensely enjoyed trying to figure out the young spitfire stowaway-runaway slave.

He knew that if he had not learned who she was, she probably would have lost interest in him before she stole his heart and he probably would have still been a simple privateer by the name of David Jones and nothing more. He certainly would not have become the terror of the Seven Seas or the sole person dying men both feared and hoped for. He would have been just another pirate trying to survive in a world that both feared and hated the uncivilized outlaws. Thinking about that road not taken left him with a feeling of want and wishing he could step back in time and stop himself from kissing the sea goddess, that kiss that doomed him to an eternity at sea. But then another part of him chastised such thinking, knowing that if he had never met her, never kissed her that night or came to know her he would never have come to know true companionship and the feeling of being in love and loved in return.

He snorted in disgust at the last thought. Certainly he had learned what it felt like to be in love but he never truly experienced what it was like to be loved in return. She had never loved him. The day she stowed away aboard his ship, she had been planning all along to make him her pawn in whatever grand scheme she had devised for those who sailed on her waters. She pretended to love him so that he would agree to her _request_ without a seconds thought. She pretended to understand him as she showed him her existence and when that dreadful day came for them to meet after ten years of keeping the dead...

She... was... not... there!

A deep and angry chord resonated from the organ, enunciating his feelings of her betrayal of him as he struck the keys angrily. She had betrayed him to a fate worse than death. She had left him locked away on a floating prison and was given only one day out of ten years to stretch his legs and try to enjoy a life he could never have again. She even had gone as far as to disfigure him, his crew and his ship because he would not play her twisted game, he would not carry out the task entrusted to him. And for that betrayal, he betrayed her by returning the favor and imprisoning her. She took him away from land and made him in to a monster, so he took her away from the sea and made her into a human. He wanted her to know what it felt like to be trapped from all that you loved and cared about and from everything that made you who you are.

The circle was now complete; he had his revenge and took everything from her like she had done to him. He became The Sea and the Devil's equal while she became nothing more than a mere human female. But... despite all of the powers given to him he could not undo the one thing she had done to him, he was still a monster by appearance. If he ever wanted to feel the warmth of a woman again or make port anywhere in the world again and enjoy life's luxuries, he needed to be human; not some squid-faced, crab-clawed monstrosity even though the site gave him some advantages over the living and dying. He wondered how far he would go to become at least a human again?

He leaned forward and started playing the organ once more but this time rather than play the melodious lullaby the locket played he chose instead to create with his beard a dark and angry piece full of grief and hatred; and although it sounded frightening and unsettling to his ears he felt none of those emotions as he continued to think about his fate and what could have been.

How far _would_ he go to become human again?


End file.
